Portrait: Hisoka
by Celtling
Summary: A short piece that (hopefully) captures Hisoka as a character. He is a riddle wrapped within an enigma, cold and aloof - at least, that's how he appears. But every gesture, every look gives clues to what goes on behind those bright eyes.


Author's notes: The idea of a 'portrait' is, as the name suggests, to illustrate a character with words rather than pencil or paint. This is the first time I've tried one. It's also my first Yami no Matsuei fic, and the first fic I've posted to fanfiction.net, so looks like this will be a day of firsts ^_- I'd appreciate it if you have the time to tell me whether it worked or not!  
  
  
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Portrait: Hisoka  
  
  
The ghost moved through the world of the living as if he belonged there, an arrogance enhanced by the slightly uplifted chin and defiant expression. Though his flesh was warm, his breath a faint hush of sound, still there was something otherworldly about him, untouchable and undefinable.   
  
He tread the concrete footpath with purposeful steps, hands shoved deep within his pockets. People walked past him, streaming to either side, occasionally jostling each other as the crowds ebbed and flowed. Every so often someone would press too close for his comfort and he would flinch away, though nobody noticed his unease.   
  
Even amidst others, he was somehow set apart from them, their eyes slipping over him as if he simply wasn't there. He wore his separateness like a cloak, and none even tried to penetrate his disguise.  
  
Eventually, tired of pacing, he came to a halt outside the shop. He leant against the wall, shoulders back, knee bent to press the sole of one sneaker flat against the bricks.  
  
To look at, there was nothing immediately attention-catching about him. A teenager, of average height, perhaps a little more slender than usual. Gawky in the way a colt is gawky, long-limbed proportional to stature, with a touch of frailty to him, evidenced by wrist bones peeking from the cuffs of his sleeves. He was dressed in blue jeans and a denim jacket, orange t-shirt a splash of colour between the rows of buttons and holes.   
  
He waited with growing impatience. Occasionally, he would lift a hand to brush the sandy hair back from his face with irritation, his forelock too short to tuck behind his ears, but long enough to hang in his eyes. It was the eyes that truly set him apart. Green - not mossy or hazel - but a clear, bright green of a shade expected of jewels or stained glass, not of human eyes. Eyes that missed nothing, noting every detail and nuance, though his expression remained flawlessly impassive.   
  
His gaze drifted over the forms of those milling about, until it came to rest upon a young girl waiting for the lights to change. There were no creases by his mouth or eyes that might indicate that he ever smiled. But as he watched the girl tug excitedly upon her mother's hand, his guard slipped just a fraction, to reveal the faintest trace of wistful longing. It remained only for a moment, until the girl paused and then turned to look at him, as if she felt his gaze upon her.   
  
Within an instant the mask slammed back into place, with its customary scowl. He deliberately turned his head and looked down the street in the opposite direction, jamming his hands more deeply into his pockets.  
  
A few moments later, Tsuzuki exited the bakery, prompting Hisoka to roll his eyes with disgust. "You and your sweet tooth," he said with unmasked irritation. "You're going to make us late."  
  
"You're just jealous," pouted Tsuzuki, cradling his box of cakes under one arm as though they were more precious than jewels. "If you're going to be so grouchy I won't share them with you."  
  
To that, Hisoka just snorted, pushing himself off the wall with his hands and then returning them to their customary place in his pockets. "Tatsumi's gonna dock your pay again." He warned, smugness in his tone.   
  
Tsuzuki made no response except to reach out with his spare hand. Hisoka ducked a moment too late, not quite avoiding the fingers that cupped his skull and mussed the faded brown hair. With brows drawn down in a frown he jerked away from the gesture, shoulders hunched defensively.  
  
Tsuzuki only laughed, which earned him another dirty look as his partner fell into step beside him. Together, they cut a path through the faceless crowd - a tall, scruffy man in a suit, flanked by a shorter boy in denim, bantering animatedly as they went.  
  
But as he walked along, Hisoka let himself savour the memory of the brief touch. Despite his fear, he craved human contact, a yearning understood only by one who had left his mortality behind much longer ago than Hisoka had. Someone who continued to press him, and reach out to him, no matter how many times he was shoved away.  
  
And so, even though Hisoka was only a green-eyed ghost child who feigned the right to walk the world of the living, he wasn't alone. He had found the place where he belonged, and he was content at Tsuzuki's side.  



End file.
